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Admiral Horatia J. Nelson slammed her fist on the table. “Buckets of blood, Collingwood, we’ve been over this a hundred times! The risks are worth taking. Villeneuve is a damned coward and there isn’t a half-decent markswoman in the whole French bloody fleet.”
I breathed out a long, quiet sigh and prayed for a quick end to the war council. Collingwood slowly folded her hands on the table in front of her. Maybe she was ready to concede that Nelson’s plan was sound. I hoped so — I was tired of listening to this conversation go in circles. Then Collingwood leaned forward, red cheeks puffing out and eyes narrowing, ready with a retort. I sighed again.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Collingwood said, coolly polite but insistent. “I would humbly remind you that we are, according to the latest intelligence, and to our potential misfortune, greatly outnumbered. This is hardly the occasion for untested stratagems.” With a placid smile, Collingwood searched the faces around the table for support. I looked away, instead fixing my gaze across the room.
The plan was daring, I had to admit. I had thought the idea mad when Nelson first confided in me. She had come to my lodgings the last time we were ashore, in the middle of a storm. The rain had soaked her through, and while her small frame rattled over a cup of hastily-made tea, she talked me through the plan by scribbling in a water-logged notebook.
First she drew two neat, parallel lines, representing a conventional battle between large fleets. The Royal Navy would line up facing a line of enemy ships, and while the cannons fired back and forth, the commander would be able to easily communicate up and down the line, to signal a boarding attack or quick disengagement. Nelson tore this page out with a sudden fury. She didn’t want an orderly battle. She had been chasing Villeneuve for months, so she wanted to make sure the French didn’t have any opportunity to run away.
Now with a fresh page, Nelson drew another neat line to represent the French fleet, and two perpendicular lines on the English side. She explained that if the English fleet divided into two columns, we could sail directly through Villeneuve’s line, dividing it into three parts. We would focus our fire on the middle segment, where Villeneuve would be cowering in her flagship, Bucentaure . By the time the outer ships could turn to her aid, Villeneuve, at last with nowhere to flee, would be decisively defeated.
I was skeptical, but I could plainly see Nelson’s conviction. I brought up the obvious risks, including the certainty that the ships at the head of each column would be exposed to heavy fire. By the end of a long night of discussion, I was certain her plan was fundamentally sound. Over the ensuing weeks and months, Nelson persuaded each of her captains in turn, often by sheer force of personality alone. And yet, at this late hour, Collingwood was proving to be stubborn.
I brought my attention back to the debate and realized that for some time I had been inadvertently staring at Captain Harvey, directly across the table from me. She was smiling back, and had one eyebrow slightly arched. She had noticed my stare and clearly thought it was intentional. I felt warmth rush to my cheeks, but before I could look away, she mouthed the words Do something . She flicked her gaze toward Nelson, still in the middle of a spirited rejoinder, and nodded encouragingly at me.
Nelson was pacing again, her chignon threatening to come undone with each turn. When receiving honors before an adoring crowd, Nelson assumed the character of Admiral, stately and calm, but on the eve of a long-awaited battle she could not help returning to her natural state of unfastened enthusiasm. Now she was gesticulating wildly with her one good arm. “That’s despite joining with the Spanish fleet. No vessel — Spanish or French — is a match for an English ship-of-the-line in one-on-one combat!” She was raising her first to pound the table again, so I quickly stood and cleared my throat.
Turning her raised first into a threatening point, Nelson pivoted toward the interruption. But seeing it was only me, she smiled. “Yes, what is it, Hardy?” She could never hold her temper in an argument with me. I felt a bit foolish, knowing that the rest of the captains might see her too-intimate manner, but I was pleased at the same time.
“If ma’am will, um, allow me to interrupt… Look, Collingwood. Captain.” I panicked a bit. What was I going to say? “The strategy is bold, but hardly new. Duncan used crossing lines at Camperdown, and Jervis cut off a quarter of the opposing fleet at Cape St. Vincent.” I vaguely remembered those names and desperately hoped none of the other captains would correct me. “Admiral Lady Nelson has considered this for many months. Since the hour is late, I suggest that you all return to your ships and prepare your women for tomorrow’s battle.”
Harvey quickly raised her hand, saying “I second Captain Hardy’s, well, what she said. Hear, hear.” There was murmuring from some of the other women. Collingwood looked as if she might try to engage Nelson again, but Nelson had entirely moved on and was now bidding farewell and good luck to the departing captains.
As they filed out the door, someone grabbed my arm. I turned to face Captain Harvey. “Thanks for saving us, Thomasina, that was getting dreadfully tedious.” She gazed up at me and kept her hand on my forearm.
Elia Harvey was notorious in the British Royal Navy as both a fearless fighter and an indiscriminate rake. I’d lost several weeks salary to her over dice myself. “Certainly,” I replied. “Someone had to do it, I guess.” I shrugged her hand away.
Harvey pouted and said, “Well, take care of yourself tomorrow. I’d hate to see anything happen to that pretty face of yours.” Then she positively flounced out of the room.
The cabin was almost empty. Collingwood was the last to depart, her brow still furrowed in thought.
A moment after the door shut, Nelson muttered, “That one’s always griping, eh, Hardy?”
I turned and spoke judiciously. “It must be tough, being second-in-command to Britain’s most beloved hero. She doesn’t mean any harm.”
Nelson smirked. “That’s where you’re wrong. I can’t see half as well as you, Hardy, but that’s enough to spot that Collingwood’s just hoping I’ll croak before we beat Napoleon.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Nelson was already striding past me out of the room. I shut my mouth and followed. As we passed the gunroom, some women who had been shirking the evening chores during the long meeting hastily assembled to attention. Nelson swept by them, putting on a leaderly air, but I stopped to ask one if she could bring a meal to my quarters in a short while.
When the meal arrived, I was in the midst of a pitched argument with Nelson.
“There’s simply no reason for you to stay on Verity .” I gestured to the midshipwoman to set our meal on my desk. “We have the most vulnerable position in the van and you’re too valuable to lose. Go and join Captain Harvey on Temeraire . You’ll see plenty of action without being in the melee.”
Nelson shook her head as the midshipwoman made a hasty exit. “Hardy, damn you, I can’t possibly let my women fight for honor and country if I’m not there beside them. At any rate, I’m certain Harvey would much rather take you aboard.”
“It’s not like that!” I pressed on, determined to not have to explain what I meant in any more detail. “At least agree to wear something less conspicuous. With all your medals you’ll be lit up like the crown jewels in the morning sun.”
Nelson grinned wickedly. “You’ve got me there, Hardy. I just can’t bear to fight without my medals. Their shine is just too damn inspiring.”
“ ‘It’s never too late to be wise,’ Nelson.”
“Very good, Hardy, very good. I’d gladly trade quotes with you, but this is no time for chit-chat! Dinner’s here. Come, help me with my coat so I can sit.”
I stepped up behind Nelson to help her undress. She had insisted on wearing full regalia before the assembled captains, though her coat was thick and heavy, even before the medals were pinned on. I pulled the waistcoat off of Nelson’s right shoulder, the side with the stapled sleeve, which made it easier to pull the other sleeve off of her left arm.
Holding the coat carefully, I crossed to hang it near the door. When I turned back, she’d taken down her hair. Her long hair was light and golden, but I’d observed more and more streaks of gray with each passing month. The right sleeve of her rumpled shirt dangled, empty and loose. “Shall we eat?” I asked.
She looked forlornly to the table where the meals were set. “Cabbage.” She sighed theatrically. “Cabbage more and always. What I wouldn’t give for some decent food.” She tossed her head in the direction of the cot, sending her hair flying. “And a bed that’s more than hardwood. I’d cut off my left hand for a bale of hay to sleep on and some decent biscuits. Scurvy be damned!”
I was somewhat horrified. “God forbid, Nelson. You don’t mean that.”
Nelson turned from the food and sorted through a stack of papers on the desk, as if distracted. “No, no, I suppose not, Hardy. Terrible thing to say.”
I stepped toward her cautiously, wanting to reassure her, but she went on. “I’ve composed a message to rally the women, Hardy. We won’t be able to signal down the line after the battle is joined, and I want them to hear something they can keep close to their hearts. Tell me what you think of it: `England entrusts that every woman will do her duty.’ ”
“That will do well, ma’am.” I joined her at the desk, stepping to her right side. “I’ll copy it down for the flagwoman.”
I was halfway through encoding the message when Nelson interjected, “Editing my speeches now, Hardy?” She pointed to a word I’d just transcribed.
I flushed. “Oh, well, it’s just that to signal ‘entrusts’ the flagwoman would need to separately flag E-N-T-R-U-S-T-S. She can signal `expects` without spelling the whole thing out.”
“I say…” Keeping her hand on the table in front of me, Nelson turned her head to the side, and I became aware of how close we had become, close enough that I could now feel Nelson’s breath on my cheek. “That’s sensational, Hardy. You have the right of it.” For a moment I wanted to turn towards her, but we were close enough that if I did, we might touch. I took a step back, and I could feel her gaze following me.
When I felt I had the courage to meet it, I looked up. But she had turned away. She was holding her left hand before her face, turning it so that she could study her nails. “You know, I believe we’ll see twenty ships surrender on the morrow. The other captains may doubt, but I know the British Royal Navy and I know that goddamn coward Villeneuve.”
She began to pace slowly, with a hard-set jaw and distant gaze. Without looking my way, she continued, “Tomorrow, my duty will be at an end. I was lost for months, Tamsin. My failure let our enemies join forces. They call me a hero, but what hero could bring about such a thing?”
“That’s hardly fair, ma’am. Horatia.” Nelson rarely called me anything but Hardy, and never spoke in such abject terms. In truth, I could understand some of why she held herself accountable. Nelson had led the English blockade of France quite effectively until a storm allowed Villeneuve’s fleet to slip past her watchful eye. The French fleet then joined with the Spanish fleet and disappeared. I remembered how furious she was, setting off to track Villeneuve wherever she had gone. Her quest led her up and down the Mediterranean, with me in tow. But now we had returned to the coast of Spain, off Cape Trafalgar, with a plan to catch Villeneuve once and for all.
“Crossing the sea, I would look out in hopes of seeing a ship. Sometimes I fancied I would spy a sail at a vast distance and look steadily there until I was almost completely blind, then lose it and retire to my cabin to weep like a miserable fool. There’s Robin Crusoe, again, you know. Tomorrow we may finally complete the task, but there’s still a chance Napoleon could land on England’s shores.” Nelson gently sat on the cot, and looked to the floor.
I went and sat at Nelson’s side. “The future isn’t written yet.”
She turned her face up, slightly. “You’re right, Hardy, of course. And what a future it will be. I’ve found her. I must face my destiny — whatever it brings — head on.” I saw certainty etched into Nelson’s jaw, but hesitation in her eyes.
I placed my hand behind her shoulder, saying “You won’t face it alone, dear Nelson.” Then I reached across her lap with my right hand and clasped her left, bringing it to rest between us. Whatever I could do for her, I would.
Nelson’s mouth twisted in a tiny smile. The tension in her shoulders eased and she lay back on the cot, looking up at the wooden ceiling. She kept her hand gently clasped in mine. “If I could choose another path, Hardy—”
“Don’t speak so,” I interrupted. “Your integrity and devotion to duty has led our countrywomen to honor and glory. Why would you throw that away so lightly?”
“Not lightly, no.” Nelson sat up urgently and leaned forward, bringing her face close. Her eyes weren’t full of hesitation after all. The blind eye appeared softly unfocused, even relaxed, but her other eye was tearful and somehow bright. “You’ll think me an absolute scoundrel, Hardy, but I must tell you. I’ve never been happier than when working at your side. The love of a thousand townsfolk matters nothing to me. Just that of one captain. And I’ve even dreamed—” She stopped, unable to pursue that line of thought.
I brought my hand up to her face, and moved a strand of hair behind her ear. “This is the course set for us. The only one. But I’ll follow you along it until I am no longer able.”
“Then kiss me, Hardy.” Her voice was a tender plea. “Kiss me, quick.”
The sheets around me were tangled, the air chilled.
I opened my eyes to the smell of the sea.
Memory returned.
I sat up in a rush, feeling lost and overwhelmed. Where had she gone?
Never here. The loss was sudden, and familiar. A figure lay in the bed next to me, still covered in sheets. I choked back a sob, knowing that a loud noise would be sure to rouse him. I could wake Jamie — he usually knew how to comfort me — but I somehow felt guilty. The nightmares he understood. He had his own. But I could never explain the dreams.
I kept blubbing for a while and soon my pillow was wet with tears. I managed, somehow, to stay quiet, but I couldn’t go back to sleep. I folded the sheets back and stepped onto the stone floor. Bringing a thick wool blanket with me, I crossed to the bedroom window. We still kept it open, all these years later.
A thick, low fog was covering the forest, as if the castle had come unmoored and floated up into the starry sky overnight. The thought calmed me, free for a moment from feeling like I needed to belong. I never got used to being Lady Maddie. Never felt I was any good at it. It would all have been easier with Julie to show me the way.
I looked up to the stars and a bit to the right and remembered another dream.
***
The cabin door slammed open, and Julie swept in like a summer breeze.
She was perfectly coiffed and had found a new way to make regulation clothing seem elegant. I blinked at her through bleary eyes. Julie was already chattering away.
“So sorry I’m late, dear, but there’s still plenty of time to get in a dance at the ball. I heard the band on the way over to fetch you and— Bloody hell, Maddie, you’re in your pajamas!”
I opened my mouth to reply and, instead, yawned. “Just sleepy… I think I came right back from the plane this afternoon and dozed off. I dreamt I was flying. Trying to land, I think. It’s already difficult to remember. You woke me up.”
“Well, we both know how it ended. You’re an excellent pilot when you’re awake. Dream Maddie would have stuck the landing without a hitch.”
“No, I always wake up before I land.” I struggled to think of what to stay next. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but I wasn’t too interested in going to another Maidsend hop. “Why don’t you go ahead to the dance. It’ll take me ages to get ready.”
Instead of acknowledging my suggestion, Julie went to the dresser and began rooting around. “Maddie, why don’t you let me be your fairy godmother. I’ll conjure you a beautiful gown in no time.” I reluctantly got up and went to the small mirror by the end table. “You know, those Buscot airfield boys will be there. That Geordie was still talking to you when I left the mess hall yesterday. How’d that turn out?”
The mirror showed me a hopeless mess of tangled black curls. “Oi, Julie, lay off. He was an absolute dullard. I kept asking him what it was like to fly with one of those new engines, but he kept changing the subject to his village up north. It was as if he thought all I want from life is a nice cottage with two kids and a cat, and only hearing about war on the radio. I just wanted him to tell me about flying the dratted plane.”
“And he just wanted to talk to a pretty lass.” I started, caught off guard. Julie hadn’t noticed me jump; she was busy sorting through my clothes. She’d said it so casually, and maybe it was the kind of thing you just say to be nice. But I couldn’t help wondering whether she meant it.
Julie found a relatively well-pressed shirt and a clean skirt and turned around. She bowed deeply and announced, “Your gown for the ball has arrived.”
“I don’t know, Julie.”
Her arms dropped to her sides, and her face grew serious. “Alright, Maddie. You don’t have to change clothes.” She was tiptoeing towards me. “But that means either you won’t come out with me to the biggest dance at Maidsend this summer, or you’re coming in your pajamas. The first option would be quite devastating to me, and the second such a scandal that I insist you give me time to change into pajamas myself.” And now she was smiling again. As daft as the suggestion was, I could see that she really meant to go through with it, if it would get me to go with her.
I tried to adopt some of her theatrical manner. “As you wish, er, godmother. Only please turn that dullard into a pumpkin so I don’t have to talk to him again.”
“That’s not how the story goes! People to pumpkins is forbidden. Just ignore the dull boy and find yourself a Prince Charming.”
“I wish you’d picked a different story, Julie. All those stories for girls are the same — looking for a prince to marry and a castle to live in. I always wanted to hear an adventure like Aladdin or Little Thumb. ”
“You know, my nan used to tell me and my brother a different kind of story — a fairy tale about the secret to a woman’s heart. Come, I’ll tell you while I do something about your hair.” Julie sat on the bed and I pulled a stool over and sat in front of her.
“Once upon a time, a young knight was caught hunting on the private lands of a powerful lord. The punishment for this crime was death. The knight begged for mercy, and the lord granted it, on the condition that the knight return in one year’s time with the answer to a perplexing riddle: what is it that women desire most of all?
Julie began to brush my hair. “The knight journeyed for the entire year and met many women, but each gave him a different answer: fame and fortune, or comfort; clothes and jewelry, or flattery, or freedom. In the final week of his quest, as he returned through a deep forest to the lord’s domain, he came across a repulsive old hag.” Julie cackled and made her voice soft and witchy, saying “She explained that she was the lord’s sister and would give the knight the correct answer — on the night after he married her.
Now Julie had turned to braiding. “With no time remaining and no alternative, the knight agreed to marry the loathly lady. She was good as her word, and when the night of their wedding came she explained to him that all women truly desire is sovereignty. He saw the sense of this answer at once, and when the powerful lord heard it he deemed the riddle solved and gave the knight the absolution he sought.
“The knight had avoided death, but his new wife saw that he was unhappy. Though she had loved him from first sight, he was repulsed by her terrible appearance. To ease his pain, she offered to perform an enchantment: if he preferred, she could sacrifice her love for him to restore her body to a state of youthful beauty. The knight was tempted by the offer, but he only responded that if she could perform this enchantment, she was free to make the choice herself. This answer pleased her greatly, and she kissed him, transforming into a beautiful and loving maiden. Since the knight had taken to heart the lesson about what women truly want, they lived happily ever after.
It took me a moment to realize the story had ended, since I was enjoying feeling Julie’s hands brush against my neck. She’d been finished with my hair for several minutes. “Why’d your nan tell you that story?”
“Nan used to always say that the moral of the story was to look for a man who lets you make your own decisions. Then sometimes she’d say ‘Ach, Alistair…’ while she shook her head.”
I sat forward. “But that story isn’t really any different than the others. All she wanted was to marry the knight. I would have just used my magic for myself.”
“Maddie, are you really saying you wouldn’t marry a handsome knight? You could live in a grand old castle and have the prettiest things.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
Then she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me back towards her. In a conspiratorial tone, she said, “My brother lives in a castle, you know.”
I tossed a pair of socks in her face and laughed.
Once I was dressed, I looked at Julie, and gave a half-hearted shrug to say that I was ready. Julie smiled encouragingly and eyed me up and down. “Almost ready for the ball. Here, one moment.”
She grabbed my arm and pulled me forward a few steps. I was flustered by the sudden attention. Her eyebrows narrowed and she stared intently at the corner of my mouth. She lifted her hand and rubbed her thumb at the corner of my lips. Her other hand, for a moment, rested on my shoulder, and I secretly wished it would stay put. “There, now. You’re all scrubbed and ready to go.”
We set out for the mess hall, which they had repurposed for dancing by clearing the tables away. The sun had just set, so the evening was rapidly cooling.
Soon we could hear the sounds of the big band playing. Julie was delighted and began to walk faster. “Oh, Maddie, it’s a foxtrot.” She took my hand and pulled me along.
I broke away. “I don’t know, Julie, maybe you should really go on ahead. I can’t— I’ve not got the slightest idea how to foxtrot. I’ll just have one of those Buscot boys trodding all over my toes.”
It wasn’t really the dance that made me hesitate, but what was I supposed to say? Julie was effortless. My only memory of the last Maidsend hop was feeling clumsy and gormless, standing near her as she teased and flirted with one pilot after another, and realizing that I wasn’t jealous of her, but of them. I would catch myself staring at her, dumb-struck…
Julie’s laugh pierced through my sudden gloom, and I found that she was taking my hands. “It’s easy, I’ll show you.” Before I knew what was happening she had started to lead me around the quad. She was right — following her was easy. The band began to play “Dream A Little Dream Of Me” as we glided and spun smoothly outside the hall.
***
It was the night of my first flight to France. I had been waiting up for Julie to finish whatever secret business she had so that I could gloat about my terrific adventure. But she’d returned harsh and unfamiliar, with strange bruises and shaking hands.
As she started to smoke I could sense her going back to her old self. Rather, she was pretending to be at ease, putting up a shield. I had but a moment to get through her defenses, so I was direct. “What do you actually do?”
When she had confessed the whole ordeal — the interrogations, putting her body in danger, her fake German identity — I was flabbergasted. Julie was so much braver and more fearless than I could ever hope to be. But judging from how this evening had gone, she was struggling to do it alone.
“Come get warm,” I said.
She put out her cigarette and climbed into bed next to me. Without a word, she folded into my arms and began to shake. I pulled her close and tried to reassure her that she was not a bad person. Nobody in this war was blameless. But she broke down further, and started to sob.
I’d never heard her cry like this — quiet, desperate, and utterly hopeless. I held her tight, certain that I wouldn’t let go until the crying stopped. I rested my head on her shoulders and—
“Brodatt!”
I’d fallen asleep writing. Again. My captors would not be pleased.
“Brodatt! This is simply unacceptable. You must finish recounting your knowledge of local resistance members today or you will be further disciplined.” Her voice was sharp and piercing. I looked up, still groggy from my nap. Her hair was, as always, scraped back against her head in a tight bun. Her face was plain, with a firm and tight set mouth. I’d never seen her smile. I sometimes thought that she could be pretty if she made an effort. But Eva Seiler always seemed harried when she wasn’t seeming outright mean.
“Why don’t you give me a cigarette first?”
Now she was standing beside me, ignoring my insolence. “You have barely started this page. You must continue. Immediately.” This room was bare, but it was better than the hovel that was my cell. I had come to cherish my time in here writing, although Seiler would often lurk nearby.
I picked up the pen and tried to review where I’d left off. But instead I turned to look up at her. “Have you ever been to England?”
For once, her steady demeanor wavered. But after only a moment’s pause she laughed, brash and mocking. “What a foolish notion, Brodatt.”
But I pressed on. “I dreamt that we were there. Together. It’s slipping away now but it seemed so…” I trailed off, unsure how to describe the sudden closeness I felt. “So familiar.”
Now Seiler looked troubled, and that look lingered. But she insisted that I resume writing. I reviewed the last of what I had written so far that day:
The French Resistance works out of a series of Headquarters, scattered across different geographic regions of France. The senior staff at each HQ went by codenames under the same letter of the alphabet. As you know, my orders were to fly to HQ-V and extract an SOE agent called Verity.
Verity was a top spy. Sent deep into the Resistance early in the war, her daring acrobatic escapes and stealthy exploits earned her a further nickname: La Chatte. Six months ago, we received word that Verity had been captured by the Gestapo. Her last report contained some information about her whereabouts, so we decided that if we were going to bring her home, we would need to do it soon.
Of course, my mission to extract her came to pieces soon after I landed. During my flight, the Resistance girls had broken into the building where Verity was being housed and discovered that nobody was there. Apparently it wasn’t a Gestapo building at all, but a bakery, and the baker and her family had quite a fright. The girls brought me some nicked bread, but no Verity.
I was not supposed to stay long, certainly not until they could find her, but it turned out the girls had been followed to where I’d made my landing. The girls scattered, and I tried to scatter, too, but I was taken captive.
Alright. No escaping it. Here’s what I can remember of the girls:
— An affable lass named Jeanne Prouvaire.
— An ugly girl with brandy on her breath. I didn’t catch her name. Something that began with an R? And her surname might have been Lemaire?
I flinched as I reread this, knowing that the women who had taken me in after my crash would now be at risk. But after only three days under the Gestapo’s torture program, I’d caved. Sure, I was a top RAF pilot, but I was no spy. I gave them everything. I couldn’t tell them much. Only a little about planes, and airfields. Once they’d broken me, they brought in Seiler to get the rest of the details. They had ordered me to give them names, and I resisted that. But she had discovered that I knew a few more than I said at first. Now I had to write out the full story, names and all.
There was a loud sound from the floor below, a crash like wood breaking. Seiler glared at me and said “There had better be more names by the time I return, Brodatt!” and left the room.
She was gone a long time. There were more noises, and what sounded like gunfire. As soon as I heard shots, I scrambled for the hairpin I had stuck into the underside of the desk. With the hairpin I could maybe unshackle my legs and make a break for it. But the silence outside the doorway was stretching on and on. Should I take a chance and escape, or play it safe? I might not have an opportunity like this again.
In the end, the decision was out of my hands.
WHAM! The door to the writing room burst inward. A sweaty, ragged soldier carrying a big machine gun stepped through the doorway. “We’re not going to let you stay here one more day, Kittyhawk.”
It was Enjolras, one of the resistance girls I met on my first night here. She’d found me! Not just her, but a whole crew of them. A sea of faces I didn’t recognize swarmed in beside her.
One of the girls came to free me and introduced herself as Marius. She explained that the resistance crew came in through the cellar and fought their way up to the floor where I was being held captive. I heard more shooting, this time from upstairs. It sounded like maybe there were more guards then they expected. Drat.
A little girl, much younger than the others, had been watching the street through the window. She squeaked out, “More officers! They’re coming in through the front, we have to be quick!” Double drat.
A couple of women stumbled into the room, dragging Eva Seiler behind them. She looked as though she’d taken a couple of punches already. They dropped her to the ground. One woman leaned over and spat on her. “Kill this one. She’s a damned Nazi — a snake in the grass.”
There were murmurs of agreement, but I intervened. “Leave Seiler to me. You may still have time to free the other prisoners.” I tried to sound as fierce as Enjolras and the others looked.
The resistance girls bought my assumed swagger and dispersed, off to quickly liberate the rest of the hotel.
Now alone with Seiler, I removed the gag from her mouth. Her eyes were aflame. “Are you going to kill me, Brodatt?”
I didn’t say anything. I was angry at how she had treated me — always berating, belittling, and unsympathetic. She had stood by me, jeering, as I sobbed more than I cared to remember. But she had never raised a hand to me herself.
“I know you must have dreamt of this moment. Get it over with. I deserve it.”
I studied her and said quietly, “I cannot do it. What are you guilty of? You’ve only done what you believe is your duty.”
She let out a laugh that was half a sob. “You’re so naive, Brodatt. What does duty mean to Von Linden? If you get away, they’ll kill me and call it duty, too.”
I checked the hall. No one else was there. Then I went back into the room and shot the wall once.
“I’m chaining you to this table and giving you this hairpin. Wait for the stormtroopers, or flee. Your choice.” Then I ran for the cellars.
The retreat to the cellars rapidly went to hell.
Shots rang out down the hall behind me as I reached the cellar door. Enjolras was at the top of the stairs reloading her machine gun. Marius was on my arm, gut-shot and rapidly losing blood.
Von Linden had been on the upper floor with some of her elite bodyguards. They’d cornered us on the stairs, and most of the rescuers had already been shot down.
I helped Marius lean against the banister and she began stumbling down the stairs. I took the gun I’d picked up along the way and joined Enjolras.
“They’ll be coming around that corner any second.”
Enjolras looked up from her weapon and said, “Get out of here with Marius. Saving you was the mission, and she needs to get to a hospital. I’ll keep them busy.” We heard stomping boots approaching. I squeezed her arm and kissed her cheek, then ran down the stairs.
The machine gun blared to life behind me. I could just hear Enjolras whistling a march beneath the gun’s whine.
I stumbled down two flights of stairs, and found Marius senseless on the ground. Had she lost too much blood? Hit her head on the way down?
I knelt beside her, and suddenly found a knife at my throat.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance, Brodatt,” Seiler hissed into my ear.
“What did you do to Marius?”
“Nothing. I saw her take a few steps, then she passed out.”
Seiler yanked the gun from my belt, then pulled me to my feet. She pushed me forward and I stumbled a few steps before turning around. Seiler looked completely unhinged, and like a whole new woman. Her hair was loose and wild, and she was now armed with both knife and gun.
“How did you get here ahead of us?”
“I know all the passages through this building. The dumb-waiter leads directly here.”
“I underestimated you, Seiler. You’re well trained for an interrogator.”
“Well trained, yes. At goading secrets out of gormless little girls. What’s waiting for you back home, Brodatt? A court martial, likely. You’ll be held to account for everything you told me.”
She was goading me still. “It’s true that I let my countrywomen down. I’m sick with regret for what I’ve said, but how can I turn from justice now, after so much blood was shed to save me?” I had to find an argument, some way to make her see reason, or at least to get the gun out of my face. Some way to get Marius to safety. “Come with me, Eva. I’ll speak for you. We’ll face them together.”
“Impossible, Brodatt! If I tell them the truth, it won’t be any old court martial. My life will be forfeit. Damned if I go, damned if I stay. I can’t believe you haven’t guessed,” she sneered. “I’m Verity. Or what’s left of her. I’m no better than bloody Quisling herself. I’ve been pretending to be a double agent and ratting out resistance girls all over France. Sold my country out to save my life.”
Anger was rising within me. Here I stood, offering mercy to a confessed traitor. The woman who was likely responsible for giving up the information that got me captured in the first place. Her self-loathing was apparent, and I agreed. She should have chosen death.
She was pointing the gun at me, but I was mad enough to not be afraid. I lunged, ducked under her first wild shot, and tackled her to the ground. I thumped her in the face, twice, and she dropped her weapons. I picked up the gun and put it to her forehead.
Her lip bloody, she looked up imploringly.
“Do it, Maddie, quick.”
That sense of familiarity returned with a sharp pang. Suddenly I saw through Eva Seiler, to whoever the scared girl was beneath. I remembered the borrowed cigarettes, the loosely tied bonds, the exaggerated bravado. It must have been killing her, to keep up that act for so long. I couldn’t just shoot her.
Instead I tucked the gun into my belt, kicked the knife away, and went to Marius. Still breathing. I dragged her to the wall beneath the grate that led to the street.
With a strength I didn’t know I had, I pulled the grate from the wall. But lifting Marius above my head was an awkward challenge, and to my surprise I suddenly found Seiler at my side. Together, we pushed Marius through the grate and out to the street.
I clambered out of the cellar first and quickly scouted the street. We were thankfully alone. I turned to extend a hand into the cellar, to bring Seiler into the light. But she had gone.
I reached for the gun and found it missing.
***
The nightmare always started at the moment when I realized that we weren’t going to win this battle—that we could not win.
So now, with a few of the hostages dead and a few loaded up in the lorries and a few escaped, there were only seven living people left—including Julie, with a guard’s boot against the back of her neck. And then the German corporal or whatever he was, the fellow in charge who had arrived with the reinforcements, decided to teach everyone a thorough lesson.
He hauled Julie to her feet and pushed her over next to the other standing prisoners. Julie was ragged—gray wool flannel skirt; scarlet-orange pullover with holes in the elbows now; brassy gold hair loose and wild; her face skin over bone. Her arms were bound tightly behind her back, with wire.
Three prisoners in a line. The soldier in command gave an order, and a guard took aim at one of the captive men and with one bullet maimed him low between his legs.
The lad shrieked and collapsed and they fired at him again, and again. They turned to the next man and fired on him also. I knelt, wheezing with horror, under the cover of the undergrowth. Julie stood cowering, staring straight ahead of her at nothing. She was next. She knew it. We all knew it.
When they shot their second victim again, shattering his arm, my not-very-reliable control just went and I burst into tears. I burst into loud, gulping sobs, bawling like a baby.
Her face—Julie’s face—her face suddenly lit up like a sunrise. Joy and relief and hope all there at once, and she was instantly lovely again, herself, beautiful. She heard me. Recognized my fear-of-gunfire blubbing. She didn’t dare call out to me, didn’t dare give me away.
They fired at the second man again, destroying his other arm, and he fainted dead away.
Julie was next.
I desperately wanted to wake up. The next part was the worst of it, the inevitable ending — Julie dead and never knowing how I really felt. I screamed at myself to run, to turn away, to wake up. A story shouldn’t end this way, with me killing the woman I love. But if it’s the ending she wanted, the one she asked for, I had to do my part.
Unless I woke up now. Unless I could just rewrite fate.
I began to plead. If you just believe, Maddie, I thought. Believe hard enough in a happy ending, in fairies, in dreams. Just change one thing — just blink, or clap your hands. Wherever you are, having this dream, please, please clap your hands and save Julie. Do it now. Do it now. DO IT—
I was sobbing and begging and still Julie was next.
Suddenly she laughed wildly and gave a shaking yell, her voice high and somehow theatrically fey.
“Girl,” she said, “why are you crying? Remember the thimble you gave me?”
My head was reeling. What did she mean, a thimble? A thimble could mean a kiss, but I never kissed her. Not really. Did she mean the kiss of mercy — the kiss of death? This was my nightmare, not hers. How could she know? I thought of the kisses I had wanted to give Julie but never been sure I could, never sure she wanted. To kiss her now was too terrible a thought — just the once and never again.
“Well, I don’t want it this time.” Julie straightened her back and turned away from the guard, and cried, “Now then, no fuss, no blubbering; good-bye, Wendy!”
And, trembling, she began to step forward, as if walking an invisible plank.
I was frozen, not knowing what to do. I didn’t move, so the guard just shot her. The first shot was straight into her bound arms and the second in almost the same place, shattering bone. Julie screamed and began falling to her knees.
Then I remembered how the nightmare was supposed to end. This was worse. I had to finish it. I had to wake up. I raised my gun and I aimed at her as she fell, but so did the guard.
Spinning her head back in defiance, she jeered, “Bad form, you stupid Nazi bast—”
She flinched—the blow from the guard’s gun knocked her head aside as though she’d been thumped in the face. Then she was gone, and my eyes finally opened.
***
Outside the plane was a distant golden sunset. In the other direction, a greenish full moon.
Julie laughed, easily, from the control column next to me. We were flying the Puss Moth together, taking Julie home to Castle Craig. She’s right here, I thought, she’s really here, and snuck a glance.
It was Julie, alright — poor Julie Beaufort-Stuart, who had lost a great deal in her fight to make it home alive. She caught me staring from her good eye, and turned. I still couldn’t look at her without remembering those terrible hours after she’d been shot. There had been so much blood. Nobody could believe it when we’d returned for the dead and realized she was still alive.
I looked at the black patch covering the place where her eye used to be, and the bandage on her forearm, where they’d had to amputate. The wound on her arm had been badly infected by the time she reached a resistance hospital. She looked so changed, but only until she smiled, and then I was with the same Julie I’d always known.
“I can’t believe you’re really here.” I looked away, a little embarrassed by the desperation in my voice. “That night… What did you mean when you said ‘this time’, just before you— before they—” I couldn’t put it to words. I didn’t want to remember it. Had it really happened?
“Maddie, I…” Julie sputtered and managed to go on, her voice soft and quiet, “I thought I was going to die. I knew it, in fact. I had my last words prepared. But I suddenly heard a noise like a thunderclap and remembered these fantastic dreams. You were there, and I had to choose to go with you, or to be on my own. In some of the dreams I died. But sometimes…” She trailed off and sat back in her seat, arm down.
Without her steering, the plane buckled slightly, but I kept us flying straight. Julie was standing. She took two steps across the cockpit and put her left hand on my shoulder.
“You were always there for me. I know you would have helped me end it. But I picked a different ending.”
She crouched down beside me, and I turned to face her. Green light was framing her bright golden hair. She put her hand to my cheek, and whispered, “But now I don’t want you to be Hardy for me, or Wendy, or anyone but Maddie. Let’s grow up together.”
I felt like I was going to try say something terribly beautiful and poetic, but to spare us both, I just kissed her. Her lips were, well, like a dream come true.
I was desperately happy, and each kiss was more urgent than the one before. Suddenly I felt like I had to come clean, and I pulled back. “Julie, I don’t know how to say this. Jamie, he kissed— well, I kissed—”
“Oh, shush, Maddie, don’t spoil it. You’ll have to talk to him about it and sort it out for us. But if you need to tell me about any other boys you’ve kissed, I’ll turn a blind eye.” She gave a small laugh. “That refers to Nelson, you know. Someone signaled to him to stand down instead of fight and he put his telescope up to his blind eye so he could have deniability.”
She pantomimed using a spyglass as we pulled over a ridge. We could finally see Julie’s estate. A low fog covered the moors, and the castle stood as if on misty clouds. My breath caught in my throat.
“It’s gorgeous. It’s unreal! Have you ever seen it like this before?”
“Stay there with me, Maddie, and we’ll find out.” And so we flew home together.
The plane descended slowly, and eventually all we could see was the mist. There was a soft shaking as the wheels touched down and the plane braked to a halt. Julie swung open the door and leapt out of the plane like a gazelle. I was left alone.
Her voice called out from the fog.
“We’ve landed, darling. Come inside.”